When most people begin practicing yoga asanas, they naturally focus on what they're doing. 

Which postures should I practise? 
How often should I practise? 
What's the best sequence? 
How long should my practice be? 

All reasonable questions, yet sometimes having so much to think about becomes part of the resistance to practice.. Instead, we might like to consider: 

What do I need from my practice today?

It's a subtle shift, but one that changes the way we approach our yoga asana practice altogether. 

One of the things I appreciate most about yoga is that it offers remarkably versatile tools. The same broad practice can be adapted to improve strength, restore movement after injury, regulate the nervous system, support healthy ageing, prepare the body for meditation, or simply provide a quiet space to reconnect after a busy day. 

The postures themselves may not even change very much. What changes is the intention behind them, the way they are practiced, and how they are organised together. 

That’s why I don't believe there is one ideal yoga asana practice. There are simply practices that are more or less appropriate for the person, their circumstances, and what they need at that particular point in time. 

Over the years, a few principles have consistently shaped both my own practice and the way I teach others. 

Begin with your current reality. 

Every practice begins with an honest assessment of you – how you’re feeling, stress levels, what you have on the rest of the day, your mental state, physical state, etc. 

Are you feeling scattered, energised, sore, fatigued, anxious, motivated, distracted or calm? 

These questions aren't designed to over analyse every sensation. Rather, they help establish context. 

Without context, it's easy to assume that every day should look the same. Yet our lives are constantly changing. Sleep, work, illness, hormones, family responsibilities, travel and emotional stress all influence how we move and how we recover. A practice that felt nourishing last Tuesday may feel completely inappropriate today. 

Recognising this is part of what yoga teaches us – how to adapt and respond. 

Let your purpose shape your practice. 

Once you've established where you are today, the next consideration becomes where you would like to finish. 

Sometimes those two places are very close together. 
Sometimes they're quite different. 

Perhaps you're hoping to feel more alert before beginning work. 
Perhaps you'd like to unwind after an emotionally demanding day. 
Maybe you're rebuilding confidence after an injury, or simply maintaining the movement and strength you've worked hard to develop. 

Having a clear purpose doesn't mean every practice needs to achieve a dramatic transformation; it simply provides direction. When we understand what we're trying to cultivate, our decisions for how we practice become much clearer. The sequence, pace, intensity and even the amount of time we spend practising can all begin to support that intention. 

Rather than following the same routine out of habit, we begin making decisions that reflect what our body and mind genuinely need. 

Learn principles before collecting techniques. 

One of the most valuable shifts in my own teaching happened when I stopped asking, "Which posture should I use?" and became more interested in understanding why I was choosing it. 

Every movement asks something different of the body. For example – stability, mobility, balance, coordination, rest, etc. Some techniques invite us to slow down, notice our breathing, or become more aware of patterns of tension that usually pass unnoticed. 

Once you begin understanding the principles behind the movements, the practice becomes far more adaptable. Instead of memorising sequences, you begin recognising relationships. You understand which qualities you're trying to cultivate, and the postures become one of many ways to support that process. You're no longer only route learning poses, you're cultivating discernment. 

Allow the body to become part of the conversation. 

One of the reasons yoga has remained relevant for thousands of years is that it continually brings us back into relationship with ourselves. 

Rather than asking the body to conform to an external standard, we gradually learn to observe what it is communicating. Changes in breathing or quality of movement. Some movements feel effortless, while others reveal hesitation, compensation or fatigue. 

None of these observations are problems to solve immediately; they're simply information. 

This is one of the qualities I find most therapeutic about yoga. It encourages awareness and curiosity before judgement or assumption. Instead of asking whether we're performing the posture correctly, we begin asking questions that are often more useful. 

How does this movement feel? 
Where am I working harder than necessary? 
Could I create the same outcome with less effort? 
What happens if I slow down? 

These questions cultivate awareness, and awareness has a remarkable way of improving movement (and life!) over time. 

Adaptation is part of the practice. 

There is a common assumption that modifying a posture somehow makes it less valuable. 
 
My experience has been almost the opposite. Some of the most skillful practitioners I've worked with are exceptionally good at adapting their practice. 

A practice that supports recovery after illness will naturally look different from one designed to build strength. A woman navigating perimenopause may have different priorities from the same woman ten years earlier. Even within a single week, sleep, workload and emotional demands may justify a different approach. 

Adaptation and modification isn't a sign that the practice has become smaller - it usually reflects a deeper understanding of what the practice is trying to accomplish. 

Measure your practice beyond the mat. 

Perhaps one of the most important questions we can ask is whether and how our practice is influencing the rest of our lives. 

Does it help us move through the day with a little more ease? 
Does it support better decision-making? 
Has it improved our relationship with stress? 
Do we recover more quickly? 
Has it given us greater confidence in our body? 
Are we more patient with ourselves? 
 
These are difficult things to measure, but they usually become the changes people value most. 
Very few students tell me years later that they remember finally touching their toes. 
Many remember sleeping through the night again; feeling less anxious; walking without pain; or just feeling more confident and capable. And, feeling more like themselves. 

Those are profound outcomes, and they remind us that a well-considered yoga practice has always been about far more than the physical body. Its influence extends into the way we move through our relationships, our work, our health, and the ordinary moments of everyday life.